


Moonlight Serenade

by spaghettixday



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Developing Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, everyone needs a vampire au lol, this is a shitty summary im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaghettixday/pseuds/spaghettixday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vampire AU. Matt Murdock masquerades as a vigilante, feeding on the criminals he takes down. He goes through life alone, is used to it, thinks nothing about it. But then Franklin "Foggy" Nelson moves in to the same apartment building, and Matt finds solitude isn't all that great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> That's a shitty summary, sorry. I'm bad at those and titles. The title comes from a Glenn Miller song from the 1940s and was better than anything else I could think of.

A car horn sounded in the distance, a long, irritated blare, followed by a shouting argument between the driver and the person he’d been honking at. The sound was a mosquito in his ear; annoying, but of no concern. He was in hunting mode. Nothing could deter him.

A handful of people had already passed through the alley, mostly couples on their way home from the nearby nightclub, the bass pounding in his ears, vibrating through his skull. They weren’t his targets. He let them pass through, the stink of sweat and booze pouring off of them, their hearts beating lazily, slowed by the alcohol coursing through their veins.

With the foot traffic from the nightclub, the alley was a prime spot for crime. Muggings, mostly, but he’d stopped a rape or two. He hadn’t been able to stop the stabbing, two drug dealers disputing over territory when one of them sliced the other’s stomach with a knife. The spilled blood, fresh, salty, metallic, coating his senses, stimulating his fangs to descend and his body to ache from hunger. It was all he could do to not lose himself, let the beast within him take rein and have its fill of the drug dealers. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d called 911 and left the scene in a hurry, aiming for anywhere that the smell of the blood didn’t reach him.

His activities weren’t going unnoticed. Masked man, dressed all in black, dropping from the sky and attacking criminals, he was bound to be noticed at some point. A nickname emerged, printed on the front page of the New York Bulletin: The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. The moniker, given to him by a Ben Urich, was amusing, really. The article pegged him as a dangerous man who took the law into his own hands, one who would appear, attack criminals, and leave without so much as a word. “Vigilantes are a danger to this city, brought out of the woodwork after The Incident.” The Incident. It was what they were calling the attack on New York three years ago. No mention of the Avengers. No mention of his second attack on the criminals, when the would-be-victims fled the scene and he descended once more, sinking his fangs into the necks of the criminals and drawing out the blood that kept his body going.

“I’m fine, Mom.” A voice caught his attention. Male, relatively young, maybe thirty or less. “I was just checking on a client, making sure she’s going to show up tomorrow.” The man was distracted, his attention on the phone, on not tripping. He missed the man who followed him into the alley, the man slinking along behind him, reaching into his pocket, producing a small switch blade. “Yes, she’s going to show up. She’s one of our less difficult ones.”

He dropped silently from the rooftop, landing behind the man with the knife just as he was hissing at the first man to give up his phone and his wallet. “Holy shit!” The man dropped his phone, the call disconnecting. “Look, guys, I don’t have any money. Okay? And if you take my credit card, well, I only have twenty-three dollars in my bank account, so you aren’t going to have that great of a spending spree.”

“Guys?” The man with the knife turned to look over his shoulder, confused.

“Surprise.” He landed a fist to the man’s face, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. A small amount of blood trickled from his nose, and god, he was starving, but he couldn’t exactly feast while the first man was still watching him. “Aren’t you going to go?”

“You aren’t robbing me?”

“No. The opposite.”

“I’m robbing you?”

“I’m _saving_ you, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right. Um. Thanks.” He fished into his pocket and produced something small, a business card judging from the smell of paper. “Vigilante running around in a mask, that’s not asking for trouble or anything.” He extended his hand to give him the card. “That's my business card. I’m a lawyer. Foggy Nelson. If you ever need anything.”

He took the card, didn’t bother looking at it before slipping it into his back pocket. “Foggy? Is that short for Fogbert?”

“My name is Franklin. Foggy’s a nickname. And you are…?”

“The Devil.” He reached out, picked up Foggy’s dropped phone. “Call your mother. Tell her you’re fine.” Foggy accepted the phone, looked down at it, inspecting it for cracks in the glass. “And pay attention to your surroundings. I’m not always around.”

When Foggy looked up, The Devil was gone.

\---

The sun was just peeking over the horizon when he entered his apartment, passing through the rooftop access door, a perk of living on the top floor. He couldn’t see the sun, couldn’t see the orange haze of the sky, the glare of the light off the glass and steel of the city, but he could feel the beams of sunlight on his skin, an irritating warmth. He preferred the night. The night was safe. The night welcomed monsters.

He pulled off his mask, shedding the identity of the Devil and leaving just Matt Murdock, a blind vampire who worked as a medical transcriptionist, an exhausted, alcoholic hermit, as he thought of himself. Matt dropped the mask on the floor, along with his gloves, his boots, and his long sleeve shirt. Before dropping his pants, he fished out the business card Foggy had given him, running his fingers over the card. The print was raised enough that he could “read” the type by feel: Nelson and Carter, Attorneys at Law. Foggy Nelson had a law partner. Matt felt a twinge of jealousy, something that surprised him. He didn’t even _know_ Foggy; why was he jealous?

He shrugged it off, stripping down to his boxer briefs before crawling under his smooth silk sheets, pulling the covers over his head to block out the beams of the rising sun, spilling in through his curtains. Early in the morning and full of blood, Matt fell asleep easily.

\---

“Four thirty-seven P.M.”

A talking alarm clock. If he went back in time and told his ten year old self about the technology available for the blind, it would have blown his mind. Ten year old Matt knew the time only by asking his father, when they announced it on the radio, or by what programs were playing on the radio. Other things had no comparison: cell phones and computers with screen readers, Braille keyboards and displays, and a list of talking items that was a mile long. Matt wished he could have been born later in life, that he could have experienced the technology boom as a blind child rather than as a vampire who was blinded as a nine year old boy.

_Can’t change the past._ Matt rubbed his face with his hands, the stubble on his face prickling his fingers, and rose from his bed.

The sun was slowly sinking into the west, leaving Matt’s east facing apartment clear of the direct beams. He stretched his arms over his head, starting out of his room, avoiding the piles of clothes on his floor. He hated the long, dragging days of summer, preferred the short days and long nights of darkness in the winter. But more people were out in the summer, leaving him well fed and happy. In the winter, he was lucky to feed every other day, leaving him starving, irritated, ready to snap at anyone who came near him.

Matt exited his bedroom, crossing the sparsely furnished apartment to the kitchen. He had no use for the area, only kept the fridge plugged in to make ice, but the kitchen was where he kept his alcohol and coffee, the only edible things he was able to stomach. Anything else, he regurgitated within an hour. To avoid the vomiting, Matt stuck to alcohol, coffee, and blood.

He picked up the bottle of whiskey from the counter, frowning at the weight of it. Shaking the bottle gave him no sloshing noise. The bottle was empty. “Damn it,” he muttered, dropping the bottle in the trash. With no other bottles, no container of coffee, Matt had nothing. “Bodega run.”

The bodega was only at the end of the block, and at the time of day, the buildings would shade the sidewalk, keeping him out of the sun. Even if he had to walk in direct sunlight for fifty blocks, he would do it for whiskey and coffee. _I would do anything for love,_ he sang to himself, laughing on his way out the door.

\---

Even though Matt had been blind since he was a nine year old in 1944, he’d stopped using a cane years ago. Becoming a vampire at age twenty-eight, in 1963, didn’t heal his eyes, but it did leave him with senses heightened beyond those of other vampires, the reason food affected him differently than other vampires, the reason the sun irritated his skin while other vampires could walk freely in the sun for hours. To make up for his lack of vision, his senses came together to form a mental image, a sort of radar vision, to allow him to “see” an impression of the world, like flickering flames. Over fifty years and all he knew was a world of fire. He couldn’t see details, couldn’t distinguish colors, couldn’t read screens, but he managed to get by.

Three bottles of whiskey and a container of coffee later, Matt was checking his mailbox, running his fingers over the numbers to find the right one. “Mom, of course I’ll be there Sunday.” A familiar voice came into focus. The same voice from the night before. _What was his name… Foggy. Right._ “Because I’m there every Sunday, and you call me every Friday to ask if I’ll be there Sunday. Look, Mom, I gotta go, I’m about to get on a train. Yeah, love you too. Bye.” He sighed as he slid his phone into his pocket. “Moms, right?”

“Wouldn’t know. Never knew mine.”

“Oh. God. Sorry. I have this disease called foot-in-mouth-itis. It’s pretty serious, but luckily it’s not fatal or communicable.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Foggy Nelson. Just moved into 5A.”

“Matt Murdock. I’m in 6A. And I’d shake your hand, but mine are a little full.” He held up his mail and his grocery bags.

Foggy dropped his hand. “Right. Sorry. Hey, have you, um, have you eaten?”

Matt felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Not yet. I’m typically a late eater.”

“Well, I’m making stir fry tonight, and I always make way more than I need, if you’re hungry. Or if you just want some company.”

Just the thought of food made his stomach churn. “No, thanks. I’ve got some work to do.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment hung in the air. Matt’s earlier jealousy at the idea of Foggy having a partner reared its head, telling him this was his chance. “But if I get finished early, I’ll stop by. Get to know the new neighbor.”

“Great! It’ll probably be an hour before I even have food on the table. I moved in five weeks ago, but I’m still kind of living out of boxes and I need to hunt down what box the pans are in.”

“Okay. It’ll probably be two or three, depending on how much work I have to do.” He nodded, started out of the lobby. “See you around, Foggy.”

Sunset was still hours away. He couldn’t hunt in the day, not without being seen. Matt opened one of the new bottles of whiskey, downing several long gulps, attempting to mask the hunger that was clawing at his body. If he _was_ going to be around Foggy, starving wasn’t going to help.

Matt sat down at his dining table, whiskey in his hand, and booted up his computer. He hadn’t been lying when he said he had work to do. Matt prided himself on finishing transcribing medical notes quickly and efficiently, often sending them back the day after he received them through his email. His work paid off; every review he’d ever gotten was positive, giving him a raise, something he needed in the world of ever-increasing-rent.

Matt checked his phone repeatedly, VoiceOver reading the time to him every time he brought up the lock screen. Two hours of work dragged by, and Matt wasn’t nearly as far into his work as he would have liked. He’d transcribed nearly half of the notes he’d received, but any other time, he would have been more than three quarters of the way through. Foggy was proving to be a distraction, a welcome distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. Matt rubbed his hands over his face, closed his laptop, and rose from his table. Taking an hour or so to be with Foggy couldn’t hurt. It would allow Matt to get over his distraction, at least. Matt took another mouthful of whiskey to stifle the hunger, grabbed his sunglasses, and made his way down to his new neighbor’s apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO GLAD you guys are liking this! Like you have no idea how happy it makes me to see the counts rising. Thank you so much. <3

“Shit!” Foggy grabbed a towel and pulled the sheet of rolls out of the oven, the heat stinging his hand. They weren’t black, but they were certainly burnt. He wasn’t used to this new oven, had set the timer for the high end rather than the low end since it took longer to cook in the oven in his last apartment. “Shit!” he exclaimed again, watching the rice boil over while he set the tray on a hot pad on the counter. Foggy moved the pot from the burner and removed the lid, letting out the steam.

Foggy sighed. His first dinner cooking something and it was a complete disaster. _But I can’t live on Thai food, as much as I’d love to._ He moved the rice back to the burner, lowered the heat, and tried to salvage what he could of his dinner.

It had taken him longer than an hour to find not only a pan, but plates, silverware, and cups. The fact that he’d stupidly labeled none of his boxes hadn’t helped. What he thought was a kitchen box turned out to be a box of books and DVDs, and a box he’d stuffed in the closet turned out to be some of his kitchen items.

Two hours had passed. Foggy was sure Matt wasn’t coming. He hoped that he would, that he’d show up in his rock star glory Foggy saw him in at the mailboxes. Matt’s “see you around” had just been polite conversation. Guys like him didn’t settle for guys like Foggy. _Foggy, pity party of one, your table is ready._ He dumped his dirty dishes into the sink, running water over them to let them soak.

A knock at the door caught his attention, his stomach flipping at the idea of Matt actually stopping by to see him. _Be cool, Foggy._ He exhaled slowly, wiped his hands on a dishtowel, and made his way toward the door. “Hang on, I’m coming!”

Matt stood outside his apartment, hands jammed into the pockets of his black jeans. Foggy felt his heart catapult out of control at the sight of him. “Matt! Hey, I’m glad you could stop by. Come on in.”

Matt stepped into the apartment. “There’s only so much transcribing that I can do before I lose my mind.” He adjusted his sunglasses, not moving farther from the first step he’d taken into the apartment. “Can… can you tell me how your apartment is laid out?”

Foggy stared at him, confused. “What?”

“I, um… I don’t have the best vision. I can make do when I know how a place is laid out, though.”

“Oh. Oh! Is that why the sunglasses?”

Matt nodded. “It’s easier than not looking directly at people.”

“Okay. Well, you don’t have to keep them on if you don’t want to. Totally up to you.”

Foggy told him the layout of the room; Matt was relieved to find it was similar to his own apartment. He could have easily found his way on his own, but on the way down the stairs, Matt realized he was going to have to tell Foggy about his blindness. There was only so much he could do before people realized he couldn’t see, and he preferred to just tell Foggy up front rather than later on. He went with “I don’t have the best vision” because it gave him the built-in excuse of being able to get around without a cane or a dog.

“You hungry?”

“Always,” Matt answered without thinking.

“Great! Here, have a seat, I’ll get you a plate.” Matt swore mentally as he sat down at the dining table, but he didn’t say no. “I kind of burnt the rolls, but I’ll give you a good one. I don’t mind mine being a little burnt. And if anything, I can feed the burnt ones to the birds.”

Matt accepted the plate of food Foggy handed him, trying to sort through the scents he was picking up on. He recognized garlic, since most people seemed to think garlic was a vampire deterrent, but he couldn’t identify anything else. Expensive healthy foods, foods that weren’t basics, weren’t priorities for his father or in the orphanage. “What’s in this?” he asked, picking at the pieces. Maybe he could claim an allergy; Matt _really_ didn’t want to spend his night vomiting.

“Rice, broccoli, chicken, bell peppers, soy sauce, garlic, onions, and ginger.”

_Allergies, allergies, what allergies do humans have?_ Matt was scooping the food into his mouth before he could even think of any allergies. “Tastes great. Better than anything I could have made.” It tasted terrible, the pungent garlic and burning ginger overtaking his senses. _God, I want to vomit right now._

“Thanks! It’s the first thing I’ve cooked since I’ve moved in, so I was kind of worried I’d fuck it up somehow.” Foggy sat down in the chair to Matt’s left, the chair creaking beneath his weight. “You aren’t just saying it’s good to be nice, are you?”

“I’m not really known for being nice,” Matt mumbled through a mouthful of rice. At least the rice was bland, tasting only of salt and grains. He didn’t have time to be nice to anyone; the only friends he had ever had were in nursing homes or dead. Friends he made now would go the same path. But friends and sex partners were two different things. “Why was your mom calling earlier, seeing if you’d be somewhere Sunday?”

Foggy groaned, tilted his head back. From the sound of hair rubbing on clothes, small crackles of static, Matt could tell Foggy’s hair was longer. Shoulder length, maybe. “My mom calls me every Friday to see if I’ll be at church on Sunday. I always say yes, I’m always there, so I have no idea why she calls.”

“Why do you go?”

He straightened his neck, turning his attention back to Matt. “I’m almost thirty and my parents still don’t know I’m bi. I’m not about to throw atheist in there as well.” Matt only focused on one word: _bi._ Foggy was bi. _Thank god._ “Besides, they buy me lunch after.”

“Sounds nice.” He could feel his stomach already churning. The whiskey would keep it down for a while, at least. When his stomach was completely empty, food only lasted an hour; with whiskey, it would stay down for two hours, three at most.

“Sometimes it is. Other times, not so much.” He took on a falsetto, imitating his mother, Matt assumed. “When are you going to find a nice girl, Frank? Why aren’t you running for DA, Frank? Why don’t you cut your hair, Frank?” Foggy shook his head, clearly irritated.

Matt wanted to react, but he was already feeling sick. His math was obviously off, only factored in bland food when he was eating. This food, the smell and the taste still lingered in the back of his throat, churning the bile in his stomach. _Make up an excuse, some sort of allergy, what the hell are people allergic to?_ “I hate to cut and run, but I think I might be allergic to something in this.” He stood up suddenly, fighting back the urge to vomit. “I’ve never had ginger before, it might be that.”

“Oh, shit, man.” Foggy stood up as well. “Do you want me to show you where the bathroom is?”

“No, no, I don’t want to mess up your bathroom. I’ll just go to my own.” Matt covered his mouth with his hand. “See you later, Foggy.” He left Foggy’s apartment, let the door close behind him before making use of his vampiric speed to get to his own apartment and into the bathroom, hugging the toilet as the contents of his stomach spilled forth.

Ten minutes later, he was lying on the cold tile floor, mouth burning, head spinning. The hunger he’d been masking flared to life, consuming his mind, taking over his senses. He could hear every single heartbeat in the building, a maddening beat where none of them were pulsing in-sync, could smell the rich salt and copper of the person unfortunate enough to have a nosebleed, could feel his fangs digging into his lip as they descended. Without rising from the floor, Matt dug his phone out of his pocket and pressed the home button. “Nineteen fity-six.” Still over an hour to go before complete darkness. He rolled onto his side, got to his feet, and stumbled to the kitchen. He could go out, risk being seen, identified as a vampire, but it wasn’t a risk he was desperate enough to take. Instead, he downed more whiskey, hoping it would settle his stomach, at least for the next hour. In the meantime, all he could do was wait for the sun to go down and darkness to settle over the city.

\---

“I’m an asshole.” Foggy leaned forward, dropped his head onto his dining table. “Ask the guy for dinner and I poison him.” He lifted his head and hit it gently against the table. “I’m an asshole.”

He’d cleaned up after dinner, debating whether or not he should go check on Matt. What was the protocol when you accidentally made someone sick? Wait an hour and then check on them? Check on them immediately? Taking him food was out of the question; Foggy wasn’t about to risk a second poisoning. Instead, Foggy cleaned up, sat down at his table, and told himself he was going to work on an upcoming case, but in the back of his mind, he knew he’d just spend his time watching _House_ on Netflix and reblogging pictures of cats. He’d managed to watch three episodes of _House_ before remembering that he’d poisoned his very hot neighbor.

Foggy sat up, checked the clock on the stove. Midnight. It was more than likely too late to check on Matt, but he didn’t want to completely ignore him. _Maybe I should just stop by and check on him._ He pressed his lips into a line, trying to decide. Guilt won in the end, and he was knocking on the door to 6A ten minutes later. “Matt? Hey, you okay?” He knocked again when he didn’t get a response. “I know it’s late, but I just wanted to check on you. Make sure I didn’t kill you.” Foggy exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “I _really_ hope I didn’t kill you…”

Nothing from the other side of the door. It could mean that Matt was sleeping, a heavy sleeper at that. _Or it could mean he’s dead. Oh god, I killed him._ Foggy knocked one more time. “Okay, Matt, I’m going to bed, I’ll check on you tomorrow. And you better answer me tomorrow or I’m calling the cops!”

The guilt crept back when he made his way back downstairs, but there was nothing he could do aside from breaking and entering. As much as he wanted to make sure Matt was fine, he _was_ a lawyer, and breaking the law was strongly frowned upon.

He couldn’t sleep that night, too anxious about Matt to fully fall asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block hit hard, but it passed, so here's an update, and hopefully Immortal Life will have one soon as well!

The sound of sirens blared through his open window, heavy in the summer air. Matt woke with a start, sitting up, confusion causing his heart to pound. Darkness. The fear he’d had of the dark only intensified after the accident. Now, there was the initial fear at waking up to total darkness, and then he remembered. Pushing the old man out of the way of the oncoming truck, the wreck, the chemicals that spilled on him and burned away his eyesight. Matt didn’t regret saving the man. He only wished it hadn’t cost him his sight.

Six months had passed. Six months of total darkness, of his remaining senses only slightly enhancing to make up for his lack of vision. He still expected to wake up, to open his eyes and see the sun shining through his ratty curtains, his dresser that was lined with model airplanes he’d built himself, even the color of the worn sheets covering his bed. Matt’s entire world was just darkness.

He pushed back the covers and rose slowly from his bed, ignoring the cane that rested against the wall by his bed. He hated using it, hated the way it made people pity him, treat him like a baby or someone who was made of glass. Instead, he shuffled down the hall to the kitchen, his hand on the wall to guide him, his feet feeling for anything his dad might have forgotten to move. He reached the kitchen and pulled out the first chair he came to and sat down.

“Morning, Matty.” Matt tilted his head toward Jack’s voice. “What’re you doing up so early?” Creaking cabinets, clinking of dishes against dishes, rustling of cereal inside boxes.

“Why? What time is it?”

“Six.”

“Oh.” Matt had thought it was later than it actually was. He couldn’t tell time, another thing he missed. “Sirens woke me up. I left my window open.”

“Where’s your cane?” Matt frowned. “You’re supposed to be practicing with it, Matty.”

Matt’s frown deepened. “I know.”

Jack sighed. “I know you know.” Rustling again as Jack opened the boxes of cereal and poured two bowls, adding a splash of milk to each one. “Here, kiddo. Pep cereal, your favorite.” He placed a bowl on the table in front of Matt, the plastic bowl clunking loudly against the Formica table, and ruffled Matt’s hair before sitting down with his own bowl.

“It’s not my favorite,” Matt said, feeling for his spoon on the table. “Rice Krispies are. They make noise when you pour milk over them.” He dipped his spoon into his cereal and brought it to his mouth slowly. He’d taken for granted seeing what he ate, where his spoon was going, and as a result, now wore more of his food than he ate. It was embarrassing, made him feel like a baby, and left him eating his food incredibly slowly.

Jack sighed, his chair scraping against the linoleum as he rose from the table. “I know, Matty. I grabbed the wrong box.” He sat back down at the table and struck a match, using it to light up one of his cigarettes, what Matt assumed he’d risen to grab. “It’s been a long week.”

Matt scooped more of his cereal into his mouth. “When’s your next fight?” he asked, wary of the topic. Some days Jack was eager to talk about his fights; other days, it was the last thing he wanted to discuss. Those were the days he disappeared into a bottle, leaving Matt to attempt to fend for himself in a dark world.

“Thursday. Gives me two days to spend with my favorite kid.”

A smile broke out on Matt’s face. Spending time with just his dad, with no nurses or doctors around, was something in short supply. “Can we go to the park?”

“We’ll do whatever you want, Matty,” Jack reached across and ruffled Matt’s hair again. “Love you, kid.”

\---

Matt woke with a start, his mouth dry, his body aching. He didn’t even remember falling asleep, only remembered sitting down on the couch with a drink while he waited for the sun to set. But there he was, sprawled out on the couch, empty glass overturned on the floor beside him. At least he’d ingested the alcohol before dropping the glass.

He sat up, rubbed his face. Jack Murdock died in 1946, when Matt was eleven years old. Sixty-nine years had passed; he wasn’t even sure if the voice in his dream was actually that of Jack, or if it was just a false memory. Matt was immortal, but his memory wasn’t. Pieces of his life were lost to him: his first bicycle, the name of his roommate at St. Agnes Orphanage, the date of his birth. Eventually, everything would fade, including his own name.

Knocking at the door caught his attention. The sound of the heart pulsing on the other side of the door, the flow of warm blood through their body, caught the attention of the predator within him. He rose from the couch, moving silently toward the door, prepared to open it and drag the person inside. “Matt? Hey, you okay?”

The familiar voice stopped him, brought him to his senses. Foggy. Matt backed away from the door, entering his bedroom to change into his vigilante costume. He could hear Foggy still talking, but he wasn’t paying attention. He needed to get out. He needed to feed.

\---

The night was humid, the lingering moisture from the sweltering July day they’d had still heavy in the air. Friday night in New York City. It didn’t matter how hot it was, people were going to go out and party in the city that never slept. And where there were people partying, there were criminals, ready to take advantage of the drunk or drugged up partiers.

Matt propped the mugger he’d just fed from up against a dumpster. The man would be out for some time, allowing Matt to distance himself from the scene, from the smell of blood, rich and salty, the warmth flooding down his throat. He shook his head of the thoughts and kept going.

He could have easily killed the man rather than just taking a small amount of blood. But a small amount from multiple people, even though it didn’t keep him sated for long, was less noticeable than draining two or three bodies every few nights just to keep himself from feeling the constant hunger that haunted his body.

For a Friday night, it was relatively free of crime. Disappointing. It left Matt nowhere near as full as he’d like to have been. He could just as easily take blood from the number of humans passing through the alley below him, stumbling drunkenly, barely even aware of their surroundings. But they were innocent. He was a monster, but he was a monster with morals.

A sound caught his attention. An exhale, light, breathy. Just one. The lack of sounds – no heart pounding, no further breathing sounds – and the consistent temperature told him no one was near him. The stench of old blood told him that someone was very much near him. Another vampire.

He suddenly regretted not carrying weapons with him.

Matt didn’t turn around. Another vampire in his hunting zone, it could be entirely coincidental. Manhattan was relatively small, cramped with people and vampires. But Matt didn’t believe in coincidences. He started running, keeping his speed low, and leapt onto the rooftop of the next building, his boots barely hitting concrete before he heard the vampire following him. _Not a coincidence at all._

He stopped suddenly, spinning on the vampire, knocking them to the ground. Matt grabbed the front of the vampire’s shirt with both hands, pulling them closer. “Who are you?” he snarled, his fangs fully extended in a display of aggression. “Why are you following me?”

“Whoa, man! I was just told to find out who you are!” A male voice, laced with fear.

“Who sent you?”

“Come on, man…”

“ _Who?!_ ”

The man exhaled, the stench of blood thick in Matt’s nose. “She calls herself Mother.”

Matt snorted out a laugh. “Mother? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, man. I was told to find out who you were, that’s all.”

“Well, you fucked up.”

“Yeah, obviously. I gotta get the hell out of Dodge before she has my head.” Matt released his shirt, letting him fall to the concrete. The vampire rose to his feet while Matt crossed to the opposite side of the rooftop, already planning to take the long way home. “More are gonna come, you know. Older and stronger than me. They’ll find out who you are, and they’ll probably drag you in front of Mother herself.”

Matt placed a hand on the ledge of the roof. “Let ‘em try.” He leapt off the roof, landing silently in the alley below.

The sun would be rising soon. He wasn’t about to risk the vampire tracking him down, finding where he lived and who he was. Matt took the long way home, doubling back multiple times, entering the window of his apartment just as the sun was peaking over the eastern horizon.

_Mother._

A wave of exhaustion washed over him. Mother was someone he was going to have to worry about later. For the moment, Matt just wanted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with me!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken.... two years to update......... I've had a LOT of downs in my mental health, and I'm finally back in a good place. If you're still here, can I just say thank you? Knowing that someone is reading this is great.

Farmland, expanding to the horizon, possibly even beyond. It was the first thing she’d seen as a teenage girl, stepping foot off the boat after a treacherous passage from the Netherlands to New Amsterdam. Farmland was nothing new to her, but _this_ , this was new. It was unfamiliar. It was to be her home.

Now, in the city of New York, there was no farmland. It was all steel, concrete, and lights, a city of never-ending noise, things a sixteen-year-old Dutch girl in the seventeenth century could never possibly fathom. She’d hated it at first, the first time she’d returned to New York to find her home so changed, taken over by the colonists after the Revolution. But now, she loved it. It made her feel… _alive._

While her farmland was long gone, she still tended to crops. Flowers, vegetables, herbs, anything that she fancied, all grown in the greenhouse on the rooftop, right above her penthouse apartment. Currently, her greenhouse was full of roses, a multitude of hues, all enticing her with their sweet floral scent, the smell of spring, of freshness. They were precious to her, her children, her babies. And she was their Mother.

“Mother?”

Irritation washed over her. Interruptions were not welcome when she was in her greenhouse, tending to her plants. “What?” she snapped, not looking up from dead-heading her flowers.

 “I apologize… It’s just… We lost him.”

The statement caught her full attention. She turned to the man who’d interrupted her. A vampire, one of the many that she called her children. “You… _lost_ … a masked man?”

He swallowed nervously, eyeing the pruning shears still clutched in her hand. “W-we think he may have removed the mask.”

“ _We_?”

“There… there were three of us.”

“Three of you. Lost a man. In a mask.”

She still clutched the pruning shears, he noted. “I apologize, Mother. Please,” he cried, bowing before her, “have mercy on me.”

Mother rose and stepped toward him. She touched his face gently with her free hand. “Mother always shows her children mercy,” she told him, a kind smile spreading across her lips. He began to smile as well, feeling at ease. “Only when they deserve it.” She lifted her shears and cut off his ear. His screams were enough to wake the dead, but Mother ignored them, turning back to her roses. “Find the masked man or next time it won’t be just the ear.” She clipped a dead rosebud from the plant nearest to her while the vampire dragged himself from her greenhouse, clutching the gaping wound on the side of his head, his screams shrill and piercing to her ears.

She would have staked him and ended the noise immediately, _god_ , it was annoying, but she needed to send a message. Disappoint Mother and there would be consequences. She rose from the ground and made her way from the greenhouse, past her bodyguards. “It’s a mess in there. Clean it up.”

\---

“Big match tonight, Matty.” Swishing as Jack’s gloves punched through the air. “I got a good feelin’ about this one.”

Matt didn’t remind him that he had a good feeling about _all_ of his matches, matches that he usually lost. “I have a good feeling too, Dad.” He ran his fingers slowly over the primer in front of him, still having difficulties with the Braille he was supposed to be learning. He hated it, hated trying to tell the difference in letters in all the tiny bumps. His fingers were starting to ache; sometimes he swore they were bleeding, but his father insisted they weren’t. “Who’s the fight against?”

“Carl ‘Crusher’ Creel,” Jack answered. “It’s gonna be a good one. This is my chance, Matty, I can _feel_ it.”

“You crush the Crusher, Dad.”

\---

Matt woke to starvation.

Every fiber of his being hurt, aching for blood, so desperate to feed that he’d nearly lost his mind over a papercut on a young girl three floors below. Coffee didn’t help. Whiskey did nothing. He needed to feed. Desperately.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying. He went out every night, picking his way across Manhattan, searching for _any_ place that was void of Mother’s minions. It was nearly impossible; when he did find an area, he was only able to get in a few drops of blood before someone came along. With just a few drops every night, his body was feeling emaciated, surely looking it as well.

_I’ll have to go to Brooklyn just to get a decent meal._

It was dangerous, going so long with so little. It proved quite the temptation; what was to stop him from draining every drop of blood from the body in his arms? They were prey. And Matt was a predator.

_That doesn’t mean you have to be a killer._

Words he had never told himself, coming in a Greek woman’s voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in twenty years.

_No. I don’t have to be. But I still am._

Matt threw back his covers, stretching his arms toward the ceiling before leaving the bedroom.

His mind went back to the dream. Lately, pieces of his childhood, pieces he’d thought forgotten, were slipping back into his conscious mind, fighting their way to the surface through his dreams. Matt still remembered learning Braille, how he hadn’t completely picked it up until after the orphanage took him in. But the name of the boxer… Carl ‘Crusher’ Creel. The last man Jack ever fought. He won that night. At least his old man went out on a win.

“Seventeen twenty-four.” Hours to go until sunset.

God.

\---

Work wasn’t coming easily. His hunger was proving a distraction: the dryness in his mouth, the aching in his jaw, the hollow pit that encapsulated his torso. Matt couldn’t focus. He closed his laptop; the transcripts weren’t due for another few days, leaving him more than enough time to finish them. “Eighteen forty-three.” Matt frowned and tapped his fingers on his thigh. Perhaps… perhaps he could go out early. Mother’s minions wouldn’t see that coming. And he would be able to feed.

Knocking at his door. _Or I could order delivery._

He mused over the idea of vampire delivery as he made his way to the door, the pounding heart on the other side of the birch door deafening, a nervous pounding that piqued Matt’s curiosity. “Matt! Hi.”

“Foggy.” His downstairs neighbor, the one who’d fixed him dinner and led to his vomiting it up almost immediately, the one who sang loudly in the shower even though he was tone deaf, the one who insisted on vacuuming every single fucking day at five in the evening, waking Matt up better than an alarm. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I just, um, I thought I’d come check on you. I haven’t seen you since I, um… almost killed you…”

Matt laughed. “You didn’t almost kill me.” Part of him wanted to invite Foggy in, but he couldn’t. Foggy wasn’t a bad guy. He was just a goon. “Now’s not a good time. I’ve got a lot of transcripts to work on, I’m kind of bogged down.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine, I’m actually buried in this huge case right now, some guy named Frank Castle decided to gun down a bar full of Irish Mob members and I’m the lucky one who gets to represent him. He has no remorse and said he’d gladly do it again, so we’re looking at an insanity defense.” Foggy shifted his weight, his heart still pounding, clearly nervous about something. “I, um, I just wanted t-to see if you wanted to, um… go out. With me. Tomorrow night. For, um, for drinks.”

_Drinks._ Matt’s favorite thing to hear. “Sure. Tomorrow night, what time?”

“Seven?”

Sunset wasn’t until eight. But if they went to Josie’s down the block, he could avoid being in the sun at all. “Sure. Josie’s at seven. I’ll meet you there?”

“Seven o’clock, Josie’s. Be there or be square.” In his fiery sort of vision, Matt could tell that Foggy was doing a finger gun gesture. A light sigh that was only audible to Matt’s ears, his hand dropping, his shoulders sinking, and his head hanging. “I don’t know why I said that. I, um. I think I’ll go. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Matt gave him a partial grin. “See you tomorrow, Foggy.” He shut the door after Foggy turned to go, locking it and starting back for his computer.

_When was the last time I even went on a date?_

An actual date. Not just a hookup that ended with a blood-drunk Matt. Although most of his dates ended just as that. Being around people, faking being someone else, was exhausting, left him hungrier than usual, and he lost control.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.” It was a bad idea. Everything in him told him it was a bad idea, would only end in blood.

But Matt was selfish. He felt something for Foggy. And he wasn’t willing to let it go so easily.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it took so long, here's two chapters at the same time! I really hope you like them as much as the first three chapters. x

Matt ran a thumb over the disc in his hand, the cold metal chain wrapped around his fingers. He’d felt the raised bumps on the necklace so often, it was a wonder he hadn’t worn them down. _Be Brave_ , the necklace read. It was something she’d told him often, something her mother had told her as well. It was the last thing she said to him.

He tucked the necklace back into his pocket, the same place he’d kept the treasure for the past fourteen years. Matt would wear the necklace if he could, but the silver burned when it was in direct contact with his skin for too long. He kept it safe, always on him. Always reminding him.

The bartender set another shot in front of him, Matt having already told her to keep the shots coming. He tipped the glass back, the whiskey sliding down his throat, the alcohol content not even burning anymore. It was when he was with her that he learned that coffee and alcohol were the only regular foods he could consume that didn’t make him sick. Towards the end, she’d even convinced him to try rice. White rice lasted two hours. An hour and forty-five minutes longer than most other foods. Anything to keep the bloodlust at bay, to keep her safe. But now… he didn’t care. Who was he keeping safe? Not a single goddamn person.

The bar door opened with an audible groan, two men entering the bar. The first man, his heart pounding, a sweat on his brow, started toward the back of the bar, toward the only other person in the bar, a drunk sleeping in one of the booths. The second man locked the door of the bar behind him, slipping his hand into his pocket.

_Son of a bitch._

Matt tilted back the shot in front of him. The second guy had a gun in his pocket. Judging from the lack of muffled breath, of no moisture built up around their face, they weren’t wearing masks, which meant they weren’t planning on letting anyone out of their alive. Matt wasn’t concerned with the other two, but honestly, he _really_ didn’t want to get shot. It hurt like a fucking _bitch_ , and it was nearly impossible to dig bullets out of his torso.

The second man aimed the gun at the bartender while she started to get into the register. It wasn’t working. “The keys are sticking. This thing is old,” she explained calmly. Matt figured she’d been through something like this before.

The robber hadn’t. “Come on, hurry the fuck up! Mike, get that guy in the back!”

Mike started back toward the drunk, not paying any attention to the man at the counter. If he had been, he would have noticed when Matt rose from the stool, grabbed it, and brought it down over his head, all in one fluid motion. Mike crumpled to the ground, drawing the attention of the second guy, his trigger finger in place. “What the fuck, dude!”

Matt took one step. A mistake. The man fired, hitting Matt in the shoulder. It didn’t stop him, just took him by surprise. Matt looked at the wound, more to intimidate the robber than to actually see it, and then back at the robber. “That hurt.”

He was on the robber in a second, his vampiric speed coming into play. He grabbed the gun, still burning, his flesh sizzling beneath it, the stink of burnt flesh flooding his nose. “A lot.” He’d need blood to heal. A lot of blood. And the smell of blood that was starting to trickle out of Mike’s head wound was getting to him.

Matt lost control. His predator instincts kicked in, and he sank his fangs into the neck of the robber, stopping only when he felt the man growing cold. He let the man fall to the ground, an audible gasp catching his attention.

The bartender. He turned toward her, his fangs extended, blood smeared across his face. “Please,” she murmured, backing into the counter behind her, the glass bottles chinking together.

Matt shook his head, his fangs retracting. “I won’t hurt you.” He sat at the bar, grabbing his glass. “Call the cops. Keep the shots coming until they get here. Just.. just don’t mention me.”

The bartender nodded, reaching for the bottle of whiskey she’d been pouring from for Matt, pouring him another shot before picking up the phone. Matt stayed for fifteen minutes, disappearing out the back when he heard sirens on the next block.

\---

Six years had passed since the first time Matt stepped foot in the bar. He was a regular customer, but one of the only ones who didn’t have to pay. The bartender, Josie, had insisted on it. “It’s the least I can do.” It was the least she could say. In the time he’d known her, he’d learned that she was a woman of few words. “The usual?” Josie asked when she approached Matt.

Matt shook his head. “Just in a glass. I’m meeting someone.”

“I see that grin,” Josie commented as she fetched a glass, her voice not changing from her usual monotone.

Matt lifted his hand to his mouth, tracing his fingers over the grin that he wasn’t even aware had formed. It was… weird. Matt couldn’t even remember the last time he’d grinned, as sad as that was.

Twenty years. That was the last time he was _really_ happy.

He could smell Foggy’s scent before he even set foot in the bar: the coconut shampoo and body wash he used, the laundry detergent that still clung to his clothes, the salty sweat and almond scent his body naturally exuded. It was an addicting combination, Matt was discovering. He actively searched for it every night he was out, only coming across it once, when Foggy worked late at the office, his gait hurried, no doubt the attempted robbery still fresh on his mind. As long as Matt was around, no harm would come to Foggy.

“Matt! Hey!” The enthusiasm in his voice was infectious. The reason behind Matt’s newfound cheer, he guessed. “It took me awhile to find this place, it doesn’t really have the blazing neon signs these other places have.”

“Exactly why I like it. The neon signs are too loud and annoying, like a gnat.” He realized exactly what he said when Foggy didn’t react, other than what Matt took to be a confused stare. The other man was facing him, but he couldn’t tell exactly what facial expression he wore. _Right. Normal people can’t hear neon signs._ “I have really good hearing.” The excuse was lame, but it was safer than the truth.

“You must have bionic hearing if you can hear neon signs,” Foggy said finally, laughing. He ordered a drink, angling himself more toward Matt. His heart was pounding in his chest, his skin flushing, all that blood so close to the surface, flowing through his body with such force it would be like Niagara Falls in his mouth if he sank his fangs into…

Matt clenched his jaw to keep his fangs from descending, shaking his head lightly and tilting back his glass of whiskey. _Maybe I should have just had her leave the bottle._ “How’s your case going?” An audible groan. “That great, huh?”

“This Frank guy is a nutcase. He won’t let me go for insanity, because he insists he’s not insane. But that’s neither here nor there. Tell me more about you. You’re kind of an enigma.”

One eyebrow cocked slightly. “I like to keep you guessing.” Josie poured him another glass. Matt tapped the table before she could go, and she left the bottle this time.

“Well start with where you’re from.”

“Here.”

“Here? Hell’s Kitchen?” Matt nodded, swirling his glass, inhaling the grainy scent. “Have you ever left?”

He shook his head, but then shrugged. “A few times. Never far. The farthest was…Albany. I prefer it here. I know where everything is. It gets frustrating when a business becomes another or just closes, but something else always comes along.”

“What about your parents?”

“Dad was from here. He was a boxer. Not a good one. Basically shit. But he did his best. Mom was…” He couldn’t remember anything about his mother. She’d left when he was a toddler, but his father never told him why. By now, she was long since dead and gone. Matt himself would have been eighty this year, meaning his mother would have been one hundred years old. “She was from Lake Placid.” The only thing he did remember, a random fact that gave him no useful information.

“My parents are both from Queens, still live there. My sister lives in Philly.”

Matt was starting to lose track of what he was saying. He tried to keep his attention on Foggy, but trying to focus on him, on keeping his feral side at bay, at tuning out the constant assault of sounds and smells and tastes… It was exhausting, leaving a dull ache between his eyebrows. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we go somewhere else?” he said quickly.

“Um, yeah. You want to go somewhere to eat?”

“Just somewhere quiet. Anywhere but here.” The bar wasn’t normally so crowded; then again, Matt only frequented the bar during the week, never on the weekends. Friday night, of course it was crowded. He slid a twenty under the bottle of whiskey; even though Josie wouldn’t make him pay, he always left her a tip.

\---

Eight tones of the bells, a symphony of whispers and bellows, all coming together to form a piece of art. St. Michael’s church, just ahead of them. Matt could have found the church even without the bells. It was the church they’d attended from the orphanage, just three blocks south and two blocks west. At the end of a difficult day, he often found himself on the stoop of the church, never able to stay away, but also never able to enter. The last time he’d been inside had been at the age of twenty-six, just a year before his rebirth. He’d tried to reenter a few years later, only to find himself in physical pain. While most vampire myths were just that, the myths related to religion seemed to be true. He couldn’t step on holy ground, couldn’t enter a church, couldn’t touch a cross or even the rosary beads that had belonged to his mother, the only keepsake he even had from her.

“We went from a bar to a church.”

Matt opened his eyes, having forgotten that Foggy was even there. “I used to go to church here. They brought us from St. Agnes’s orphanage, just a few streets over. I haven’t been to church in a long time, but I always like coming here at night. It’s calm. And quiet.”

“You were in an orphanage? Why?”

“My mom left when I was a baby, my dad died when I was eleven.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Matt shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s not something I bring up.” He aimed himself toward Foggy. “Did you want to get something to eat? I kind of made you leave the bar before you could even get food.”

“No, I’m fine.”

A lie. Matt could hear his stomach grumbling hungrily. “Are you sure? Because I don’t mind -” His words were cut off. Foggy had pressed his lips to Matt’s, catching him off-guard. It was… unexpected. Foggy’s lips were chapped, but they were plump and warm, his breath tasting of cheap beer, peppermint, and salt. Matt leaned more into the kiss, wanting more of Foggy, his warmth, his lips, his blood… Matt pulled away quickly, biting his tongue to keep his fangs from descending. His fists were clenched, the muscles in his arms taut with tension.

“Oh. Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m an idiot.”

Matt shook his head slowly, his body relaxing. “No. No, you aren’t. I just… I haven’t kissed anyone in a while.” Truth. He hadn’t even been with anyone in years.

“Maybe I should go…”

“No.” Matt stepped closer to him, his head tilted, his lips close to Foggy’s. “Don’t go.” They kissed again, soft, delicate, and then with more force, with a hunger that surprised him.

When they broke contact, Matt would have given anything to see the look on Foggy’s face. He would have given anything to see Foggy’s face at _all._ “Wowza,” Foggy whispered. Matt laughed. “Wowza.”

“You said that.”

“It needed said again.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you guys are still enjoying this! I'm enjoying writing it! So much so that I'm definitely going to be updating on a more regular basis. I'm enjoying the slow buildup of it all x

The threadbare jacket did nothing to protect him from the chilly wind of late November. He needed an actual coat. Matt wasn’t ready for yet another winter on the New York streets. His old haunts from the past few years were still there, places where he was able to keep warm and dry, but he was desperate to have his _own_ hovel, his own bed, his own _anything_. At twenty-six, the last time he’d had an actual bed to sleep in was right before he graduated from high school, when he was still living at the orphanage. There were the times he’d stayed at homeless shelters, but those were just glorified cots, not beds in any sense of the word.

Twelve bells, their cadence as familiar to him as the Rosary and his own name. St. Michael’s cathedral, the church of his childhood. Matt’s cane tapped across the sidewalk, working his way up the stairs to the entrance.

Inside was a calm silence, a silence so loud it was painful. Matt was used to tuning out the constant noise of the city, but now that he had nothing to tune out, he could hear everything. Fabric of habits swishing across the tile floors, the soft murmurs of spoken prayers, the concerned whispers of those seeking guidance from others.

Matt seated himself in the back, the wooden pew creaking beneath him. He’d been attending the church for as long as he could remember, even before he’d gone to the orphanage. It was where his father took him as a child, where his father married his mother, where his father’s funeral was held. The only constant in his life was St. Michael’s and Father Dominick.

Father Dominick. Now that he was at the church, he knew exactly what he needed. He needed counselling from Father Dominick, needed guidance from God. There had to be _some_ purpose to his life, some reason he hadn’t died in the accident, why he’d been left blind instead. Perhaps Father Dominick could even help him get a job, help him get back on his feet.

“Are you here to ask for protection before going to Vietnam?” A female voice behind him. Obviously, she couldn’t see the cane, couldn’t tell that he was blind and would never go to war.

He turned slightly toward her voice. “No, actually,” he started. “I don’t think they’d have any need for a blind man.”

“Oh. Oh, goodness, I apologize.” Gentle fabric swishing as she neared him, knelt at his side. “I remember you now. Matthew Murdock.”

Matt was taken aback. He wasn’t used to people noticing him, let alone remembering him. “H-how do you know me?”

“You went to St. Agnes’s Orphanage, came to this church for years. And you look just like your father.” From the sound of her voice, she had a smile on her face. “I’m Sister Margaret. I don’t know if you remember me.”

He shook his head. The only nun he remembered was Sister Catherine, a nun with a raspy voice that made a young Matt imagine she was a stone creature come to life, gargling rocks every time she spoke. Sister Margaret had a musical quality to her voice, a harp come to life, a voice he would remember. “I don’t. I’m sorry. But how did you know my father?”

Sister Margaret cleared her throat before answering. “He attended church here.”

Her curt answer deterred him from asking more so soon. Instead, he changed the subject. “Is Father Dominick here? I wanted to talk to him.”

“Oh. Oh, Matthew, I’m sorry, Father Dominick passed two years ago. Father Callahan is in charge now. Would you still like to talk to him?”

Nervousness took over, and Matt wrung his cane in his hands. He never liked talking to new people They always asked him about his life, how he’d been blinded, what happened to land him in an orphanage, things he was incredibly uncomfortable discussing. “Um. Yes. I suppose.” He heard Sister Margaret stand, and he reached out and grabbed her arm before she could go. She tensed in his grip, and he dropped her arm. “Can I ask you a question before you go?”

“Of course.”

Matt bit his lip, chapped and cracked from the cold. “Since you knew my dad, did you know my mom too?” He’d never really spoken to Jack about his mother; every time he’d brought her up, Jack skirted around the topic, leading to him getting drunk and Matt hiding in his room to avoid his father’s rage or depression, whichever way the alcohol led. There were very few things Matt actually knew about her: she had left them when Matt was a toddler, she was from Lake Placid, and the only possession of hers he owned was a set of rose scented wooden rosary beads. Matt didn’t even know her full name, other than what Jack called her: Mags.

Sister Margaret took a shaky breath. “Matt… I –”

A cry interrupted her, the sudden outburst startling Matt. The cry was followed by running, the sound of heels clicking rapidly on the tile, the sound muted when the crier reached the carpet of the middle aisle. “Sister Margaret! Oh, dear Lord, it’s awful!”

“Sister Bethany, what is it?”

“The president! President Kennedy’s been shot!”

\---

“Candy, how do you own the heaviest couch in the world?” Foggy groaned, hefting one end of the cumbersome couch.

“Shut up, Foggy, and keep moving.” Candace Nelson pushed forward, forcing her brother to keep moving. Once the couch was in place, both dropped their ends and leaned against the sides. “See, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Foggy glared at her. “You owe me.”

“You go clean up, I’ll order take out.”

“And our debt is settled.” Foggy pushed off of the couch, taking the narrow staircase up to the bedrooms and bathroom. Candace had decided to move into a smaller home, a two bedroom in Kensington, Philadelphia, a closet compared to the last place she’d lived. But she had also lived with her boyfriend at the time, had been able to afford a higher priced home. When her boyfriend picked up a new job in San Diego, Candace couldn’t find it in her heart to go with him.

Foggy pulled his wet hair back into a ponytail, adjusted the baggy Grateful Dead shirt he’d pulled on after a shower, and made his way back downstairs. “Thai food’ll be here soon.” He could hear her voice, but he couldn’t see her. A few more steps and he spotted her, kneeling on the floor by two boxes full of books, going through them before organizing them on the shelf. “So what’s got you so perky lately?”

Foggy dropped down on the couch beside the bookshelf, knowing better than to ask Candace if she wanted help with her books, the objects more precious to her than anything else. “What do you mean?”

Candace looked up at him. “Really?” She rolled her eyes. “Foggy, you’ve only been here a few hours, but I can already tell a difference from the last time I saw you. You look happier. What’s going on?”

He blushed, looking away. “Well… I met someone.” Candace squealed and clapped her hands, leaning forward to urge him to keep talking. “Um… His name is Matt.”

“Matt what? What does he look like? What does he do for a living? How’d you meet him?”

Not something he was expecting. He was expecting confusion, disgust, anger even, but not sheer acceptance. “Matt Murdock. He has dark brown hair, styled like _Dawson’s Creek_ circa season three, brown eyes, a face of perpetual stubble that just makes him look all the better. He’s the same height as me, but whereas I’m pudgy, he’s lean and muscular. Are you really okay with me seeing a guy?”

“Foggy, it’s two-thousand-and-fucking-seventeen. Of course I’m okay with it.”

“Okay. Anyway, he’s a medical transcriber, and he lives upstairs from me. I met him at the mailboxes.”

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Just one date. Well, we went out for drinks and kissed. And before that, I’d invited him over for dinner, but I gave him food poisoning.”

The takeout arrived, Candace accepting the bag of food and paying while Foggy set up a place at the kitchen table for them. They continued to talk, about Matt, about Jackson, about anything that came up. Foggy continued to help her unpack, all of her possessions already moved into the small home.

He crawled into the guest bed, which he had just made up twenty minutes before, and groaned. Foggy’s entire body ached from exertion, ached in places he’d never known he possessed, and he longed for sleep.

Sleep wouldn’t come. An unfamiliar place, unfamiliar sounds, unfamiliar smells, it all left him wired and unable to drift into slumberland. Instead, he found himself thinking about Matt. Matt, with that rugged unshaved look, with his impish grin when Foggy was nervous, Matt with his muscular form under the tight t-shirts he wore, Matt with his perfectly formed ass that was all the more accentuated by his jeans….

“Jesus Christ…” Clearly he’d been thinking of Matt too much. God. He wanted Matt. Wanted Matt to throw him on the bed, bend him over a table, take him in the elevator…

“Oh my god.” He stopped his train of thoughts, too little, too late. Foggy was already fully erect, aching for touch, but there was no way in _hell_ he was going to masturbate in _his sister’s house_ with his sister just across the hall. _Just think of that time you had to help Grandpa take a bath after he had that surgery._ Foggy shuddered, but the thought worked. He flipped onto his side in the bed, sighing.

_I can’t wait to go back home tomorrow evening._


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't rated M just for shits and giggles, just in case you thought it was. Fair warning. :)

Full. What a sensation. He hadn’t been full in weeks. But finally, Mother’s minions had stopped tailing him, leaving him free to feed as he pleased. Just in time, because the dog days of summer would soon lead into the chilly nights of autumn and the frigid nights of winter. He was a squirrel, filling up before his food supply was cut short.

A good thing to be full, since he was supposed to be meeting Foggy for dinner that night. He’d spent weeks avoiding Foggy, skirting around, telling him he was suffering migraines, had too much work, when in reality, he’d been starving. Just being around Foggy, hearing his heart pounding, his pulse thumping in his neck, had been difficult enough when he _wasn’t_ starving. Now, he had no idea what he was going to do, since eating anything at all would just leave him sick. Matt supposed he could just swig coffee all night, pretend he wasn’t hungry. Or get something and just pick at it. He’d done that before, with _her_ , before she knew, so of course he could do it again.

Matt thumbed through the scarce amount of clothes he owned, pulling out a long sleeve shirt and a pair of slacks. He changed his mind and put the shirt back; it was the middle of July, and the long sleeves would be a standout.

He smelled Foggy’s scent before he even reached the door. Matt dressed quickly, smoothed his hair, and walked to the door, answering it a moment after Foggy knocked. “Hey, man. Hope you like Greek, cuz I know a great little diner just a few blocks over.”

“Sure. Sounds good. Lead the way,” Matt said, stepping out into the hall and locking his door behind him.

The sun was still relatively high in the sky, the time only just past five. Matt slipped his hand into Foggy’s, urging him to walk faster so he could get out of the irritating beams. He could feel Foggy’s pulse thumping rapidly in his hand, could hear his heart racing. Thank god for not being on the brink of starvation.

The restaurant smelled… well, he wasn’t even sure what the smell was. Just as before, when Foggy cooked for him, the scents he caught were ones he had never encountered. Whatever it was, it was fetid and salty. “What is that _smell_?” Matt murmured.

“Smells like gyros to me,” Foggy said. “Hey, if Bob Crane ran a Greek restaurant, what would he call it?”

“Who?”

“Bob Crane.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Oh. Well. The answer is Hogan’s Gyros. Because he was in the TV show. _Hogan’s Heroes._ ”

Matt shrugged. “I never watched TV. I listened to the programs on the radio.” A waitress led them to a booth, placing menus before each of them. “I really liked _Superman._ My dad listened to sports broadcasts. When he was home. And not drunk. Although sometimes when he was drunk too”

“Superman on the radio?”

_Shit._ “Yeah. The radio program, my dad found it online.”

Foggy nodded, perusing his menu carefully. “I really liked Scooby-Doo, Garfield, and Duck Tales.” Matt had no idea what any of those were supposed to be. He had stopped keeping track of radio or TV programs past the 50s. He couldn’t see them, and radio shows were becoming more and more just music, which he could only suffer so much of. “What sounds good to you?”

“Coffee.”

The other man peered over his menu at Matt, who hadn’t even bothered with the pretense of lifting his menu. “Oh. Shit. Do you need a different menu?” Referencing his so-called “partial blindness.”

“No. I just want coffee.” He didn’t have to see Foggy’s face to know he was confused. “And salad. I guess.”

Blood flow to Foggy’s cheeks increased, bringing a warmth that made Matt shiver with desire. “I suddenly feel guilty for wanting the chicken gyros plate.”

“Don’t. Eat whatever you want. Get two meals if you want.”

“Don’t tempt me. I love this place.”

\---

“Why don’t you come upstairs to my place?”

All of Foggy’s blood had rushed from his head to his groin when Matt pinned him against the wall, his hands above his hands, and kissed him. Hearing that left him dizzy with desire. He wanted to, wanted Matt to throw him on the bed and fuck him. “You have no idea how much I want to.” He could feel his cock responding, straining against the fly of his cargo shorts.

“Then come up with me.” Matt’s murmured words were warm against his ear, his teeth on Foggy’s earlobe.

As much as it pained him, he shook his head. “I have court early in the morning.”

Matt’s teeth left his earlobe. “Then I’ll just jerk you off right here.” One hand dropped to Foggy’s fly, the other holding both of Foggy’s hands up, and he began unzipping his pants.

“No, I’m not gonna get a hand job in the hall.”

Matt stepped back, the warmth suddenly gone. “Okay. If you change your mind, I’ll be upstairs.” His tone hadn’t changed, but Foggy could tell he was irritated.

“Matt… come inside with me.”

\---

It hadn’t been a hand job. Matt had pushed Foggy back on the sofa, kneeled before him, and took Foggy’s cock in his mouth, his mouth fierce, his touch velvety soft, a combination that left Foggy in an absolute daze, spent and naked from the waist down.

No reciprocation. Matt refused it. “Next time,” he’d said, to which Foggy could only nod, still hazy. Matt then wiped his mouth, gave Foggy a delicate kiss on the lips, shot him a smile, and left the apartment.

Foggy hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. Finally, he stood, pulled up his pants, and walked to the bathroom to shower. He hadn’t told Matt, but he was secretly glad Matt said no. He’d received blow jobs – terrible ones, nothing compared to _that_ – from two girls in college, had participated in mutual masturbation with his male roommate, but… that was it. And faced with it, he was suddenly incredibly nervous. Another part of why he’d tried to say no. Although he really did have court early the next day. He always tried for later in the day, but they seemed to sense that he hated early mornings and always gave them to him. Oh well. Foggy would just have to chug a Red Bull when he woke up, the same way he’d gotten through law school. And undergrad. And high school. _Might as well hook me up to a Red Bull IV if you want me to exist in the morning._

He stepped into the shower, letting the cool water spray him all over, spinning to get his back, his front, his hair, his face. Cool showers always cleared his head, always seemed to make him all the more sleepy. Foggy sighed, thinking back on dinner. While Foggy settled on the chicken gyro plate, Matt went with black coffee and a Caesar salad. Or rather, a plate of lettuce. No cheese, no croutons, no dressing. Just… lettuce. Foggy had practically inhaled his food, but Matt just went through about twelve cups of coffee and picked at his lettuce.

Foggy opened his eyes, regretting it when the direct cold water stung his eyes. “Fuck, shit,” he muttered, feeling outside the curtain for a towel to wipe his eyes. Back in the shower, he went back to the thought that had made him open his eyes.

Matt had picked at the lettuce, yes, but not one single time had he ever brought his fork to his lips.

\---

The night air was cool, an upcoming storm bringing a relief from the blistering heat. It made him feel… great. Not just that. Foggy’s cock in his mouth had helped. He’d wanted reciprocation, but he’d also sensed Foggy’s reluctance. More than likely, he’d never been that far with another man, and was shy about it. No matter. Matt had hands. He’d taken care of himself.

The good mood was infectious it seemed. For the most part. This was still Manhattan, and crime was still rampant. The best part was finding a man who had just robbed a bodega – the same bodega Matt bought his whiskey and coffee from, he realized, recognizing the scent of the area – and Matt landed a roundhouse kick to the man’s head with his solid boots, dropping him almost instantly. He took the robber, leaving the money for the cashier, right around the corner, and disappeared into an alley. Matt’s fangs descended and he sank them into the unconscious man’s neck, blood instantly seeping into his mouth, a warm, salty, viscous blood. It was disgusting, the thick blood, too full of protein, like trying to drink honey.

He dropped the man, wiping his mouth. As he did, something wafted toward him. Hibiscus. One of the few flower scents he knew. Hibiscus, roses, and lavender. Matt spun, his nose seeking out the scent. But as quickly as it had appeared, so too it disappeared. He was alone in the alley save for the poor chum with thick blood. Where had the scent come from?

Just a passerby. He’d only reacted as he had because of the familiarity. Matt squatted down near the man’s face, talking to him even though he was out cold. “Get to a doctor, bud. Blood that thick can cause a stroke.” And he was gone, disappearing into the night.

 ---

He was impressive. She’d been following him for the better half of the night, always just behind him, just out of sight. His movements were fluid, every motion intentional, lending to the bigger picture. The roundhouse kick was surprising. But everything about him was surprising. Never before had Mother run into a vampire who… fought crime… It was unusual. And effective, if she was being honest. He didn’t kill his victims. Draining completely was rare nowadays, with as much social presence as there was in the world. Hobos, prostitutes, but their blood was never quite the same.

He’d dropped the man, clearly disgusted with the quality of his blood. And then he stopped. His head lifted, his face turning in different directions. His face aimed right at her, on the rooftop, overlooking him. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

But his face kept moving. He hadn’t seen her.

_He was looking right at me and he didn’t see me._ She watched him squat by the man and tell him go to the doctor, suddenly all the more curious. He hadn’t seen her. But… how? Mother was baffled, something she would never admit to. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed.

She had called off the hunt of the man, wanting to flush him out, make him feel safe, and she would trail him herself, since her children were clearly not up to the task. She was pleased that she had, but also disappointed and frustrated.

No matter. She would find him the next night. Mother jumped from the rooftop, landing gracefully in the alley, and slipped out, just another pretty blonde woman in a city of millions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bob Crane joke is one I came up with myself, and it cracks me up every time I tell it, even when no one has any idea what I'm talking about.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so into this, I was literally in bed because I hit a wall with writing, but then BAM, it came to me, and I HAD to write. I am feeling SO GOOD, and this is just making me so happy right now, so I just keep going. I am SO GLAD you guys like it, and I love all the positive feedback! <3

Jack blamed himself. It was his fault Matty had even been near the wreck. If he hadn’t taken Matty to the docks to see where Daddy worked, he wouldn’t have seen the man about to be hit by a truck, the truck wouldn’t have wrecked, the chemicals wouldn’t have spilled out, and Matty wouldn’t be blind. Now, seeing him in that hospital bed, so small and pale, hooked up to machines, gauze covering his eyes, wrapped around his head… Jack felt sick. He didn’t want to be there. But he couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t do that to Matt. He wouldn’t leave him like his mother had.

But… how was Matt supposed to live now? Jack knew of a school for the blind, but there was no possible way he could ever send Matt there, even if he contacted Mags to beg for money. He’d wandered the hospital, finding himself in the hospital chapel. He sat down in the back, gazing up at the cross in the front of the room. “God… what am I supposed to do? How do I give Matt what he needs?”

A light hand touched his shoulder. “What ails you?” Her voice was clear and pleasant, a silver bell on a Christmas morning.

Jack turned toward her. A nun. Not Mags. Never Mags. “My son… he was blinded. I just… I’m lost. I don’t know how I’m supposed to help him.” Tears flowed freely, tears he hadn’t even been aware he’d been carrying. “Why would God do this to my boy? Matty’s just nine, he has his whole life ahead of him!” Anger, swelling up inside of him. “Why?!”

The nun knelt beside him so she was looking into his eyes. “Sometimes God does things that we don’t understand. Right now, there is no answer for why your son was left blind. But nothing goes without reason. God has a plan.”

Jack clenched his teeth to keep from crying even more than he already was. “But why my boy?” He broke. In the silence of the chapel, Jack wept, while the nun held him in a comforting embrace, as a mother holds a child. “Why my boy?”

\---

A movie. The date Foggy had suggested, going to a movie and having dinner at his place. The only film Matt had ever _actually_ seen was _Bambi,_ something his father took him to when he was five years old. It was the earliest memory he still held, something from before he was blind, something he treasured as much as the wooden rosary in his box of mementos.

Matt was already uncomfortable. Just the overwhelming scent of grease was enough to make him sick. The coffee tasted like burnt swill, the worst coffee he’d ever had. And the noise… he could hear the track of every single movie playing, could feel the reverberations from the surround sound echoing through him, pulsing through his bones. Their own movie had yet to start, something Matt was already dreading.

He was so distracted by the overwhelming of his senses, he didn’t even hear Foggy return. He dropped down beside him, a drink in his hand. “Sorry, the line to the bathroom was ridiculous.”

“It’s fine,” Matt said, massaging his temple, his eyes closed to try to ward off.. well, nothing. It was nothing but a placebo, but for some reason, closing his eyes felt better.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. Just a headache. I’m fine.” He sat up, offering Foggy a forced smile, a smile that hurt to even form.

“Okay…” He could tell Foggy wasn’t buying it. “Are you sure? Cuz we can go if you aren’t feeling well.” Foggy placed his drink in his cupholder and took Matt’s hand with his own, cold and wet from the cup, and gave it a squeeze.

“No, it’s fine.” He leaned over, kissing Foggy on the cheek, a hint of stubble scratching against his lips. “What’re we watching?”

“It’s a horror flick. It was that, a sappy love story, a superhero movie, or a kid’s movie.”

Horror flick. Lots of suspenseful music, screaming, god only knew what else. Delightful.

“You want anything to eat?”

Matt shook his head, swallowing. He did, god, he always wanted to feed. “I’m fine.”

Foggy chewed on his lip, his teeth scraping against his chapped skin. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? You just… you don’t seem very enthused to be here.”

“It’s loud.”

“What?”

He hadn’t meant to even say it, didn’t want to explain, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Everything is too loud. I can hear _all_ of the sounds from _all_ of the movies, and my head feels like it’s going to implode.” He turned toward Foggy, his eyes for once not covered by his sunglasses. “But it’s okay. I want to be here with you,” he said, squeezing Foggy’s hand.

The previews began, and Matt’s headache only worsened. He wished he had cotton to stuff in his ears, noise cancelling headphones, anything that would stop the pain. As the previews ended and the movie began, Matt released Foggy’s hand, turning in to himself, lost in a haze. “Matt? You okay?” Foggy’s whispered words slipped through the haze, drawing him out, and Matt knew he couldn’t stay.

Matt rose quickly and slipped past him, stumbling, his otherworldly sense of vision amiss, sensory input overloaded. The lobby was quieter, at least, but the smells were even more powerful. He hurried out into the cool night air, the noise of the city much quieter than the theatre, the sounds he was used to, the sounds he was able to tune out and filter. He took a breath, letting his senses come back to him. “Matt! Matt, wait!”

Matt turned to Foggy, his hands up. “I’m sorry, Foggy. I couldn’t deal with the noise. It was just… it was too much. I’m sorry. Just go back to the movie, I’ll see you later.”

“No way, I’m not going back without you. Let’s walk home together.” Foggy reached for Matt’s hand but Matt pulled back. “Matt?”

“I’m fine, Foggy. I just… I just need quiet.”

Foggy reached for him once more. “But…”

“I said I’m fine!” Matt shouted, turning on him. Foggy was silent, but Matt knew immediately that he’d hurt him. “I’m sorry, Foggy. I’m sorry.”

A blink and Matt was gone. Foggy shook his head in disbelief, blinking a few more times, but Matt really was gone. He wasn’t sure what to do now. He didn’t want to go back in to the movie, but he sure as hell didn’t want to go home alone.

He’d never seen Matt so angry before. His eyes wild, his teeth practically bared, his fists clenched… and… _No. It had to be a trick of the light. It’s dark out. That’s all._

Even still… Foggy could have sworn that Matt had sharp, pointed fangs.

\---

Six days passed, Foggy seeing neither hide nor hair of Matt. He tried calling on him, but Matt was either ignoring him or not home. He was upset, naturally, angry even, but also confused. Matt was so closed off, so hard to even read. Foggy knew hardly anything about the other man’s life other than the fact that his dad died when he was young, he lived in an orphanage, and he didn’t know his mother.

Maybe he was better off without him.

“Who am I kidding?” He liked Matt, a lot more than he’d ever liked anyone, craved Matt’s touch, his scent, his taste. But he also wanted to feel like Matt could trust him, could tell him things about his life. Some of the things he said were odd, things that seemed like they should come from someone much older than Matt was. At the same time, Foggy had no idea how old Matt was. He’d guessed about thirty, two years younger than himself, but he wasn’t sure.

Knocking at the door drew him out of his trance. He’d been staring at the TV for the past hour, but he hadn’t even been paying attention to the game show that had started. “Coming!” Foggy called, rising from the couch and turning off the TV. He was surprised to find Matt standing at his door, his hands in the pockets of his tight jeans, his head ducked in a look of shame. “Matt. Where’ve you been?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame.

“Um. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re _sorry_? Matt, you ran out on me, yelled at me, and blew me off for almost a week. And all I get is _sorry_?!” His voice was rising, shaking, an anger welling up that he couldn’t tamper. “I don’t want an apology. I want an explanation. Why the _fuck_ did you do that to me? Why are you always so distant? Why can’t you tell me anything without being so vague about yourself?” His anger was free flowing now, every thought he had spewing out, his face reddening.

Matt bit his lip. “I thought if I stayed away from you, it’d be easier.” Foggy exhaled a laugh. “But it’s not. I’m drawn to you, Foggy. There’s just…” He sighed. “I want to tell you something about me, something you probably won’t believe.”

“How much can you see?” It wasn’t the question he’d intended to ask, but it was the question that came out. “When you first came over, you said you can’t see very well, but you get around just fine. So how well is well?”

“Um.” Matt shifted uncomfortably. “It’s hard to explain.”

“What color is my shirt?”

“I don’t know.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three. Four. Three. Middle finger.” Matt reached out and put his hand on Foggy’s, stopping him from continuing his game. “This isn’t about my sight. Well. Part of it isn’t. Part of it is.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m completely blind. Have been since I was nine. But the other part of it… My senses are heightened. Using those, it creates… an image in my head. Everything’s always shifting, depending on what is going on around me. Like fire. A world of fire.”

Foggy stared at him. “You’re right. I don’t believe that”

“That’s not the part I was talking about.” Another deep breath. “Foggy, I’m a vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if that end note is still up, it was being weird when i posted this last night and posted an end note from long ago....


	9. Chapter Nine

“Foggy. I’m a vampire.”

He stared at Matt, waiting for him to crack a smile. When he didn’t, Foggy burst out laughing. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. _That_ is your lame ass excuse? Did you really think I was gonna buy that?” He continued laughing. “Matt, if you don’t want to see me again, just tell me, don’t make up bullshit excuses.” Foggy started to shut the door, but Matt caught it, holding it open.

“I’m not lying.” Foggy grimaced. “I’m not. Just…” He moved his hand from the door, holding it up in case Foggy decided to try to shut it again. When he didn’t, his hands went to his mouth, pulling his lips apart, his mouth slightly open.

He couldn’t see the actual look on Foggy’s face, but he heard the sharp intake of breath, the hitch in his heartbeat, at the sight of Matt’s fangs. “Get out.” The words were so quiet, even Matt’s highly tuned ears almost missed them. “Get. Out.” Foggy shoved him back and slammed the door, locking it quickly, leaving Matt alone in the quiet of the hall.

Shock. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. But then again… what reaction _had_ he been expecting? Not this, that was for damn sure. Even through the walls and the door, Matt could smell the fear pouring off of Foggy’s body. Fear. It smelled of ice water, of sweat, of salt. Foggy was scared of him. Matt felt sick. He lifted his hand to knock on the door, stopping himself before he actually could.

_Fear_.

Matt backed away from the door, running his hand over the back of his head. _I made a mistake._

Solitude. Isolating himself from everything, shutting off the parts of him that felt anything. Matt stripped his clothes, leaving a trail behind him as he entered the cool quiet of his bedroom, the blackout curtains shutting out the light, the air conditioner a constant hum to close off the sound.

One other person. Only one other person he’d been intimately involved with knew his secret. It went differently with her. But it ended.

Everything ended. Nothing lasted long around him.

\---

He felt content, a feeling he wasn’t used to. But something… something wasn’t right. Matt sat up, causing the figure beside him to stir. “Matthew?” she whispered, her sultry Greek voice a drug to his ears. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he murmured. “No. No, something is. I’m… I’m keeping something from you.”

The woman sat up, her silky curtain of hair slipping across her bare back with a whisper. “What is it? Matthew?”

“Christina… Christina, I’m… I’m a vampire.”

She stared at him for a moment, and he was suddenly unsure of having even told her. And then she laughed, a deep velvet laugh, that took him by surprise. She stopped, her laughter trailing off. “Oh, my god, you are actually serious. Matthew, you can’t possibly be serious.”

Matt opened his mouth, showing her the needle-sharp teeth inside. “Oh, my god.”

“You never wondered why I didn’t eat, why I didn’t like to be in the sun, why I never went into a church with you?” Christina bit her lip. “You did.”

“Of course I did. But I just thought… I thought you were just peculiar.”

It was Matt’s turn to laugh. “Peculiar.” He shook his head. “Christina, I don’t think we should continue this. I’m dangerous. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Matthew…” She moved so she was straddling his hips, naked flesh to naked flesh. “You couldn’t possibly hurt me.”

His hand was on her neck in a flash, tilting it to the side, his exposed fangs just brushing against the flesh. “Your jugular is just millimeters away,” he whispered, his breath causing goosebumps to break out on her skin. “I could rip it out before you even knew it.”

Christina took a shaky breath. Not a breath of fear. A breath of desire. Matt could smell her desire, responded to it himself, his cock hardening beneath her. “You could,” she whispered. “But you won’t.” Matt released her neck, his fangs retracting. “Matthew… my husband is Hugo Natchios.” She placed her hand on his smooth, chiseled chest and forced him to lay back down. “You think I don’t know how to handle dangerous men?” Her hand went between her legs, guiding his cock inside of her. “I’m the one who holds the leash of you vicious beasts.”

\---

Something about him was off.

Mother had studied him for several days, and she’d seen that he’d grown… distracted. She still didn’t know his true identity, the man behind the mask, so she had no way of knowing what it was. There was always introducing herself, but that was bound to be trouble.

There. He missed another opportunity. A purse thief. But the masked man was lost in thought, had been perched on the rooftop for the past half hour, just… sitting.

She was growing bored with him already. Mother thought he was going to be interesting, the intriguing Masked Man that had eluded so many of her minions. But she’d found him easily, trailed him easily.

Never ask a youngling to do the job of an elder.

Her curiosity was still there, as to who he might be.

But tonight…

She left, off to feed on her own.

Her greenhouse was a sight to behold in the silver light of the moon. The glass shone in a way that the daylight could never compete with, a delicate haze compared to the harsh glare of day. Inside, her babies called out to her, their open faces turned toward their Mother. Another sound called out as well. Crying. Gentle sobs. Sobs of someone who knew there was no hope.

A finer music could not be reproduced.

Mother walked slowly through her garden, her hands brushing her roses as she passed, turning the corner to find a young woman, chained to a chair, unable to move more than a few feet away. The bucket where her excrement went had been emptied, but the stench lingered. It was why Mother kept her in the garden. The roses overpowered the human’s stench, lent their sweetness to her blood. She tasted of sunlight. Hence her nickname.

“Hello, Sunshine, dear.” The sobs grew. “Did you miss your Mother?” Her fingers trailed lightly over the girl’s dirty, tear-streaked face.

“Please… please let me go.”

The slap resonated through the glass building. “So… _so_ ungrateful for what I give you.” Mother grabbed her arm and jerked her up. “I’m never going to let you go, Sunshine. Not alive, at least.” Her fangs sank into the girl’s neck, drinking, draining her, stealing her life as her cries faded from existence.

\---

Full. So full, glowing with the sunlight that flowed through her now. While her minions got rid of the body, cleaned the greenhouse, prepared for another girl who would be the next Sunshine, Mother decided to take a stroll. She wanted to bask in the moonlight, let it wash over her skin and light her from the outside as the blood that sang in her veins lit her from the inside. She felt like dancing.

There he was. The Masked Man, so elusive, so mysterious. She suddenly had the urge to fuck him, pry that mask from his face as she rode his cock.

But Mother wouldn’t need to pry off his mask. She could see that he was doing it for her, revealing a handsome young man with brown hair left disheveled from the mask. An intake of breath, an exhale. He didn’t hear it. He was already creeping through the window of an apartment, shutting the window behind him.

She didn’t need anyone to bring him to her. Much to her surprise, Mother knew _exactly_ who the Masked Man was.


	10. Chapter Ten

Foggy tensed. He’d managed to avoid Matt for two weeks, something he knew he wouldn’t be able to do forever. And there he was, checking his mail, a bag with two giant containers of coffee in his hand. He looked the same as when Foggy first saw him: that rock star glory look, the black pants, black shirt, black leather jacket, black sunglasses… He was gorgeous.

_He’s a monster._

“Hi, Foggy,” Matt greeted him quickly, softly, before continuing past him.

_But he’s also still just… Matt._

Matt was already gone, up the stairs, on his way to his apartment. Foggy checked his own mailbox before taking to the stairs. In the two weeks since he’d seen Matt, he’d been fighting with himself about the whole situation. He was scared. How couldn’t he be? If Matt really was a vampire… that meant he was a monster. A killer. He survived on blood.

But at the same time… Matt was sweet. He was funny. He was… He was Matt.

Foggy found himself outside of 6A, knocking on the door. He wanted to turn and run, but he forced himself to stay.

The door cracked open, Matt peering out. Maybe not peering. Now that Foggy knew, he noticed it. How Matt didn’t make direct eye contact, how his eyes always seemed to be looking past him, not really seeing him. And they weren’t. It was why Matt always wore the sunglasses. “Foggy. Hi.”

“Um. Hey, Matt.” He shifted, looking down at the floor. “I, um… I think we should talk.”

Matt stepped back, opening the door further to allow Foggy to enter. It was the first time he’d been in Matt’s apartment. It was incredibly bare, containing only a sofa, a dining table with one chair, and a side table by the door. “Not much decoration,” Foggy stated, looking around.

Matt gave him a light smile. “Really? Well I’ll have to fire my interior decorator, she told me she’d done wonders with the place.” He gestured to the couch. “Sit down. What did you want to talk about?”

Foggy sat on the couch while Matt leaned against the wall near his bedroom door, his arms crossed over his chest. “You.”

“I figured.”

“Are you really a vampire?” Matt nodded. “How?”

“How?”

“Yeah. How did you become one? Who made you one?”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t know. I was twenty-seven when I died, I was fucked up then. I was living on the streets, I was an alcoholic, I was doing things I’m not proud of just to get by. One day, a woman found me, told me she would help me, and the next thing I know, I can see. Sort of. Like bats, with the echolocation. And I was hungry. I was starving, and I didn’t know how to satisfy it.”

Foggy’s stomach flipped. “Do you…do you kill people?”

“No. No. I’m a monster, but not a killer.” Matt bit the corner of his lip. “I get the feeling you don’t want to talk about that part though.”

“No, not really.”

“What else then?”

“How old are you?”

“Eighty. I don’t know what day my birthday is. My body is immortal, but my mind isn’t. I lose more every year.” Matt shifted against the wall. “Can I ask you a question?” Foggy nodded. “Are we… are we okay?”

Foggy swallowed. “No. We’re not. But we will be.”

\---

Time. Foggy just needed time. Matt understood completely. He wasn’t about to force Foggy into something he wasn’t ready for. Foggy wasn’t Christina, wasn’t used to a dark life. Foggy was soft, jovial, light-hearted, always the optimistic one. Matt could only imagine how the introduction to the darker side of the world affected Foggy.

August bled into September, the days growing shorter, the nights growing colder. He’d have to be careful soon, or stock up on whiskey and coffee like a man stocking up for Y2K. It had been several months since anyone had followed him, several months since he’d heard anything about Mother. Matt wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but part of him was curious as to why she chose now to leave him be. Just a ploy to draw him out, catch him unaware? Or… was she really done with him?

No matter. Matt didn’t care. All he cared about was making up with Foggy.

The second week of September, things seemed to be changing. Foggy asked him out for drinks. “No pressure. Just drinks. We can go to Josie’s, I know you like it there.” He chose a Wednesday, a quieter day, a day where the noise wouldn’t force him out.

Matt was nervous, skittish, the first date after the truth came out. Well. Not a _date_ so much as just a gathering of two people to have alcoholic beverages and conversation. Not a date.

The two arrived separately, Foggy coming straight from work, Matt coming straight from waking up. Matt was seated at the bar, a bottle of whiskey in front of him, when Foggy arrived. “Hey, Matt,” Foggy greeted him. “Save some whiskey for someone else.”

Matt grinned. “Never.” An awkward moment passed, Foggy unsure whether to kiss Matt or not. He went with a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting down. “Whiskey, coffee, and water are the only things I can keep down, but I can always taste the metal and impurities in water, so I don’t bother with it.”

Josie the bartender approached, eyeing Foggy before speaking to Matt. “He a friend?” she asked. Matt nodded. “He like…?”

Vehement head shaking. “No. He’s not like me.” She nodded once, took Foggy’s order, and handed him a beer.

“She knows?”

Matt nodded. “I saved her life six years ago, kind of revealed what I am when her bar got robbed.”

“Anyone else know?”

“Not anyone alive.”

“Encouraging.”

Matt laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, people find out my secret and they’re sleeping with the fishes.” He poured himself another glass full of whiskey. “How’ve you been?”

Foggy sipped the beer. “I’ve been better. My mom tried to set me up with a woman on Saturday night, that was a trip. Then she tried to grill me about it the next day at church and I told her that it went nowhere, so now she’s trying to find someone else, but she doesn’t get that I’m just not interested.”

“Yeah? And who might you be interested in?” Matt teased.

Foggy leaned toward him. “Well, not to be bragging, but he’s incredibly handsome. He looks like a rock star, drinks like a fish, and one time I accidentally gave him food poisoning.” Matt laughed. “But here’s the thing: I don’t know much about him. So maybe… he could tell me about himself?”

Matt downed his glass and poured another. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your childhood.”

He swirled his glass in front of him. “I don’t remember much about it. It’s faded as I’ve gotten older. I remember watching my dad box. Just once. He didn’t want me there, seeing him beaten and bloody. But this was a big one. Sugar Ray Robinson. He lost, but it was still great to see him.” When Matt thought of what his father looked like, he always pictured a man bloodied and bruised, a man with a broken nose that had healed improperly, a man with a bottle in his hands. “When he couldn’t get any boxing matches, he worked at the docks. That’s where we were going when the accident happened.”

Foggy leaned toward him, intrigued. “What happened?”

“I saw a man crossing the road, a truck was barreling toward him, and it wasn’t stopping. I ran, pushed him out of the way, and the truck swerved to avoid hitting us both. It hit another car, tipped, and spilled the cannisters it was carrying. Some of them broke, sprayed me with the chemicals inside, and it left me blind.”

“Damn.”

“I was nine. There were only a few sighted years that I had, so I don’t remember a lot. Like colors.” The most vivid color was red. The color of blood, the color of his father’s boxing shorts and robe. “My dad died two years later, and I went to the orphanage.”

“St. Agnes’s, right? Were you ever adopted?”

Matt laughed. “It was the forties and fifties. No one wanted a blind kid.”

The pair remained at the bar for another two hours, talking back and forth, moving closer and closer to each other. They both wanted to kiss, they both knew it. But…

Matt pulled back. “It’s getting late,” he murmured into the contents of his glass. “Maybe we should get you back.”

“Walk me back?”

The corner of Matt’s mouth turned up. “I wouldn’t dream of anything else.” He slipped a twenty under the half empty bottle of whiskey and reached for Foggy’s hand. Foggy accepted his hand gratefully, giving it a squeeze, and followed Matt from the nearly empty bar.

Both men were quiet, not an awkward quiet, a quiet of serenity, of acceptance. At Foggy’s apartment door, they stopped, facing each other, still holding hands. “So… here we are,” Foggy said.

“Here we are.” Matt lifted a hand, cupping the side of Foggy’s face, rubbing his thumb over Foggy’s cheek. “Foggy, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m terrified that I will.”

“You might hurt me,” Foggy said. An unusual turn. The words that typically followed were ‘You won’t hurt me.’ “But who knows, I might hurt you. We never know what’s going to happen, Matt. We just have to trust our gut and go with things.”

Matt agreed. He decided to trust his gut, bringing his lips to Foggy’s, a soft kiss, a tender kiss, growing deeper, more urgent. Matt wanted to absorb Foggy’s taste, his smell. He wanted to memorize the feel of his skin, the sound of his breathing at night. Matt wanted Foggy. Foggy, Foggy, Foggy. Knew that every moment of his existence had led to this.

_Foggy_.

“Do you want to come in?” Foggy asked, his voice low and husky.

“God yes,” Matt answered quickly. “But… but I can’t.”

Foggy grimaced. “Why not?”

“I, um… I need to feed.”

Foggy suppressed the urge to shudder. “Oh. Right. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Matt left him with one last, lingering kiss, a kiss of promises, and departed, making his way up to his own apartment. Ten minutes later, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was on duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many chapters this is going to have, but I know exactly how I'm going to end it. You'll just have to wait awhile. <3


	11. Chapter Eleven

His first sensation was hunger, a hunger so powerful it took over every cell in his body, a forced inhale, waking his body from its temporary stasis. Weakness, the tight bands of muscle in his body contracted. He couldn’t move, couldn’t hear, couldn’t focus on anything other than the hunger coursing through him. His jaw cracked as it forced itself open, his dry tongue running across drier lips.

A second sensation exploded into focus. Images. He could see. In a way. Everything flickered, a candle flame in the cold, empty room. Where was he? _Who_ was he?

One arm moved, jerked up. Second arm. He could _hear_ every extension and contraction of his muscles, like rubber bands beneath his skin. It was… it was a nightmare. He had to get out.

_Move. Move. Feed._ Finally, his body was sitting up, his legs swung over the edge of the metal table he was laid out upon. A new sound. _Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub._ It was nearing, the sounds of footsteps, rubber squeaking on tile floor. And the smell… He couldn’t identify it, but he needed it. The hunger within him stirred, sending him lurching toward the smell.

The flickering moved as he moved. It took a moment, but he finally realized what it was. Sight. Formed from the input of his senses. Sounds, scents, tastes…

_Taste._ The door to the cold room opened, bringing warmth, the smell he craved, a taste he couldn’t place… Sharpness in his mouth. His tongue went to his canines, suddenly longer, sharper… “What the fuck!” A startled cry, interrupted when his arm shot out, grasping the intruder’s throat, silencing him. Instinct took over, and he brought his mouth, his teeth, to the man’s throat, biting down. Warmth spurted into his mouth, the taste flooding his senses, stoking the hunger that flared within him. Blood. Blood was the warmth, the semi-viscous fluid that flowed into his mouth, spilling over, down his face, streaking his naked chest, spilling on the floor.

_Lub-dub. Lub. Dub. Lub._ The sound was gone. The man in his grasp stopped moving. The blood stopped flowing. He felt satisfied. Satisfied, but not full. _More._

With the fresh blood in his system, warming his cold body, his mind came back from the instinctive creature it had become. Matt. His name was Matt. Matt Murdock.

He was naked.

And if he wasn’t mistaken… he was dead.

\---

“You want anything to drink? I have coffee, water, or beer,” Foggy called from the kitchen, his head in the fridge. “Or orange juice of a questionable freshness.”

“I’m fine.” The voice from right behind him alarmed him, causing him to jump and hit his head on the fridge. “Oh, sorry,” Matt said, placing his hand to Foggy’s head. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Foggy shut the fridge and turned toward him, frowning. “You are incredibly quiet.”

“It comes with being a predator.”

“Creepy. Thanks.” Matt laughed, Foggy’s new favorite sound. It was quiet, but at the same time unrestrained, a true sound of amusement. Since telling Foggy the truth, Matt had opened up. He was still Matt, but he seemed so much more at ease. He still wore his sunglasses everywhere, something he wasn’t ready to get rid of just yet. “So you sure you’re good? You don’t want anything?”

“I’m sure. I, um…” Matt trailed off, still not clear how much about his vampirism he could talk about. “I’m fine,” he finished.

Foggy grabbed himself a bottle of water. “Hey, so, I want to run something by you,” Foggy started, fiddling with the bottle in his hands. Matt cocked an eyebrow. “My cousin is getting married this Saturday. Would you… maybe want to go with me?”

“Can’t.”

“Oh.”

“Not because I don’t want to. If it’s in a church, I can’t enter. Hallowed ground. It’s… it’s not pleasant… And if it’s outside, I can’t because of the sun.”

Foggy frowned. “You’ve been in the sun before.”

“I avoid it. I try to stay in the shade as much as possible. I think since I was blind, becoming a vampire increased my other senses even more. Including my sensitivity to things, sunlight, food, certain smells… Being in the sun irritates the hell out of my skin.” Matt placed a hand on Foggy’s arm, stopping his fiddling, and leaned in, kissing him gently on the lips. “If it’s inside but not in a church, I can.”

“Well, the actual wedding is in a church. But the reception is in a ballroom place in Jersey. Would that be okay?”

Matt shrugged. “Sure, sounds good. Am I going as a date? Or a friend?”

“Date?”

“Sounds better.”

\---

Frigid. Lying on a wooden park bench in February. Foggy shivered, and the cold wrapped around him, startling him. He opened his eyes. He wasn’t on a bench. He’d fallen asleep against Matt’s cold, solid body, and Matt had wrapped his arms around him. “You’re cold,” Foggy murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

“I’m dead.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

Matt laughed quietly, releasing Foggy and allowing him to sit up. “Sorry.” Matt removed his sunglasses and placed them on the side table, rubbing his nose where his sunglasses had been resting.

Foggy shook his head and yawned. “Don’t be.” He reached out and pulled Matt up, kissing him.

Heat. A fire that Matt craved, a fire he wanted to lose himself in, to warm the icy center of his core. He pressed his lips harder against Foggy’s, his hand going to the back of Foggy’s head, his fingers twining through Foggy’s shaggy hair. Foggy moaned into Matt’s mouth, driving him on, Matt lowering Foggy back onto the couch, one hand sliding down his front to the fly of his shorts.

A moment of hesitation from Foggy, his breath hitching, his muscles tensing. Just for a second. But Matt caught it. His hand froze, his lips left Foggy’s. “Is… is this okay?” Another hesitation, and Matt started to sit up, apologizing. “This is because of what I am.” It wasn’t a question. Matt didn’t face him. He knew the answer.

Foggy shook his head. “Not entirely. Matt, I’ve never been with another guy. Hell, I’ve never even actually been with a girl. Just oral, that’s it.”

“And not only am I a guy, I’m a vampire. A killer.” Matt’s tone was terse.

“Matt, you aren’t –”

A hand on Foggy’s throat, pushing him back on the couch, Matt’s face inches from his own. His unseeing eyes were cold, an icy brown that terrified Foggy more than the extended canines gleaming in his face. “I am though.” His voice was flat, the Matt Foggy knew not even present. “I’m a predator. And you’re the prey.”

Anger coursed through Foggy and he shoved upward, knocking Matt’s solid form off of him, backwards onto the couch. “I am _no one’s_ prey,” he snarled, rising from the couch. “You think just because you’re a vampire means you have to be isolated? That you get to be a dick? No. No fucking way, Matt.”

Matt stared in his direction. “If you weren’t being such a dick, you would realize that I like you. Yeah, I’m kind of freaked out by the fact that you’re a vampire. But up until recently, I didn’t even know vampires were real. I don’t know what else is real, so it’s just kind of a shock. So for-fucking-give me for wanting to go slow. If you don’t like it, you can go.”

As soon as Foggy said it, crossed his arms over his chest, he realized he didn’t want Matt to leave, prayed that he wouldn’t. When Matt stood, silent, Foggy felt himself deflate. Matt was going to leave. He’d chased him away.

Instead, Matt crossed over to him, taking Foggy’s face in his hands. “I’m not going anywhere.” Foggy exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m a dick.” He rubbed his thumb over Foggy’s face. The warmth had returned to his eyes, along with hurt and shame. “I’m sorry. I’ve had decades to get used to this life, and you’ve had months.”

“If you keep being a dick, I’m gonna put holy water in your whiskey.”

Matt laughed and kissed Foggy’s lips carefully. “I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

\---

Foggy was right. Matt had been isolating himself over the years. Ever since Christina died, he’d retreated even further, his only social interaction being between Josie or any emails or calls from the company he received his medical notes from. Now that he had someone, it was like he was subconsciously trying to sabotage it.

A last heat wave before the first week of autumn brought out criminal behavior. If Matt fed from everyone he stopped, he would have been bloated for a week. Instead, he took his fill, staying out just a little longer to do what he could.

He stayed on the rooftop for a few moments longer, taking in the sounds of the city, the feel of the night before dark turned to dusk, those quiet twilight hours.

Decades. He had had decades. How many more would he have? How many with Foggy? How long before he forgot everything? How long before he forgot Foggy?

No. Matt was determined. He would never forget Foggy, no matter how many centuries he lived. Damn the rest of his memories. Foggy had too much of a hold on him.

He slipped inside just before the sun’s rays could tickle the eastern horizon, as the smell of light – of warmth, of promises – was just rising through the air. Matt had only just stripped off his clothes and slipped into bed when someone was pounding on his door. He frowned and rose from his bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants by his bed.

Foggy. Foggy’s heart, pounding, scared. Matt was at the door in seconds, the taste of Foggy’s tears on his tongue before even taking Foggy in his arms. “My mom just called. My dad’s in the hospital, he had a heart attack. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t know what to do,” he stammered between sobs.

“What hospital? I’m going with you.”

\---

Matt was tense, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, a closed off look on his face. He hated hospitals, could only think of the nightmare time in his life when he was first blinded. Now, with his enhanced senses, it was worse. The antiseptic smell, the chemical taste, the lingering odor of sickness and death, the constant barrage of beeping machinery and PA announcements. And the blood. Matt was surrounded by blood. Every essence of his being strained to reach out, to get to the source of blood, to drink until his stomach was swollen and his body sluggish.

But he couldn’t. This was a hospital, a place full of innocents. Matt clenched his jaw to keep his fangs in place. “Hey,” Foggy said, hitting his elbow against Matt’s. “What’s a vampire’s least favorite day?”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t like days.”

“No, not you. Just in general. It’s a joke.”

“Oh. I don’t know. Thursday?”

“No. _Sun_ day. Get it?”

“Because of religion?”

“No. Sun. Jesus, Matt, did they not have jokes in the forties?”

Matt chuckled. “Not ones that are appropriate now.” Foggy turned to jokes when he was nervous. From the pounding in Foggy’s chest, Matt was surprised he wasn’t making more.

The elevator opened onto the sixth floor and both men stepped out. Foggy grabbed Matt’s hand, his own hand clammy and sweaty, and pulled Matt to the waiting room. A small, plump woman stood when they entered the room. She smelled of freshness, of cotton and laundry, exactly what Matt imagined a mother to smell like. “Franklin,” she said, embracing her son. “They’re putting in a stint right now. It’ll be a few hours before we can go see them.” She wiped the wetness from her eyes, her cheeks, as she stepped back. “Candace is on her way.” Finally, she noticed Matt. “Oh. Hello. Who’s this, Franklin?”

“Matt, this is my mom, Anna Nelson. Mom, this is my boyfriend, Matt Murdock.”

Both were surprised to hear the word, Matt more pleased, his mother more startled. “Oh,” she finally said. “Well. Hello. Now I know why he was always making excuses for not meeting the girls I suggested.”

“Mom. God.”

“Mrs. Nelson?” Anna stepped aside to speak with the doctor while Matt and Foggy moved to the uncomfortable plastic chairs.

Matt leaned back in the seat, his arms crossed over his white v-neck shirt clad chest, his legs stretched out, boots crossed. “So. Boyfriend, huh?” he teased.

“Shut up,” Foggy said with a smile. Matt smiled as well, uncrossing his arms and taking Foggy’s hand. “Thank you for being here.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else, Foggy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally all of Foggy's terrible jokes are ones I came up with. So that's an introduction to me hahaha.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be working on my other work, but I stopped at a shitty place and decided to start this up instead. I hope you liked it so far! Comments and kudos are much appreciated!!


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